


bem que se quis

by Anonymous



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, Shaving Kink, the stinger isn't canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 15:51:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13527549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Bedelia and Hannibal's afterlife in Rio.





	bem que se quis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotPersephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/gifts).



Hannibal takes the freight elevator to the top floor of their building. His current state of disguise is not the image he would like to project to their neighbors. He exits the elevator and strides down the short hallway; no need to fear prying eyes here, they have secured the entire penthouse suite for themselves, as much for privacy as for luxury.

His key slips in to the well-oiled lock and the door opens without a sound. The first sight to greet his eyes is the view—tall floor to ceiling windows overlook the curve of Copacabana Beach, twinkling like a Christmas tree in the evening dark. The second, even more welcome after so many weeks away, is Bedelia stretched out on the leather sofa in perfect elegant repose.

She puts away her book and rises to greet him. “Welcome home.”

“It is good to be home.” He discards his small duffle so he can gather her in his embrace. He had meant it to be no more than a hug, but the feel of her body is so good against his, satiny bathrobe over silky skin, he can’t help pulling her closer, diving in for a kiss that grows more ardent by the second. He brushes his beard against her face, drinking in the scent of her, until he lets out a deep moan of pleasure. He’d missed her that much.

Bedelia stills in his arms; she is wary, but not unhappy. “You smell of blood and the docks. You should wash up.”

“Of course.” How rude of him.

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” he says, flashing her a dangerous smile that she returns. “I already ate.”

*

It feels good to let the hot water steam away the weeks of dirt and sweat and blood that he had accumulated tracking his quarry. Normally fastidious, he had adapted to the rough living this particular hunt had required. Now he was free to shed that particular person suit and don…well, no disguise at all. In the afterlife of Baltimore, they kept no secrets from one another, let no veil slip between them. There were no oysters served at this table, and he did not force her to partake in certain delicacies. He did not partake in them either in their home in Rio, following Bedelia’s wish for him to be cautious, circumspect with what she suggested might be the last of his nine lives. And in return, Bedelia granted him the freedom to take these little excursions when the spirit moved him. Occasionally she even observed them, even if she did not participate.

As tempting as it is to luxuriate in the steam heat of the shower, the warmth of Bedelia’s flesh is more tempting still. He’s already half-hard at the thought of her; three weeks was far too long, her body sang to him in the next room like a drug. He towels himself off brusquely, slinging a bathrobe over his shoulders, as he does not intend to stay clothed for very long. Hannibal peers at his reflection in the fog of the mirror, enjoying the way his beard gives his face a rakish, almost piratical cast, before rejoining Bedelia in the living room.

There is a glass of cognac poured and waiting for him on the sideboard; she had anticipated his needs perfectly, she almost always does. He drinks her in, the silvery grey satin of her robe molten against her curves, her beauty more potent than any liqueur he’d ever tasted. She tosses her curls over her shoulder and smiles briefly at him. Such moments of tenderness from her are still hard won.

He joins her at the window, all of Rio spread out beneath them like a glittering carpet. The penthouse with its sleek chrome and glass lines had been Bedelia’s choice. Brazil had been her choice as well—he had left their future in her hands. “Someplace warm,” she had said. A fresh start for both of them under the Southern Cross.

He is so happy they forgot to forget each other after Florence.

“Did you amuse yourself while I was gone?” he asks.

“A little,” she says. “I read and went to the beach.” She takes a sip of cognac, as if to fortify herself before admitting very shyly, “It was rather dull without you.”

A bittersweet feeling floods his veins—he is happy to hear she had longed for him, sad to have been the cause of her sadness. He casts aside his drink and gathers her close in his arms. Her head burrows against his sternum as he molds his large frame around her small one. “I am sorry to have been gone so long. I did not wish to leave you lonely.”

He leaves a trail of kisses from her hairline to her jaw before capturing her mouth. One touch of lips against lips and his hunger for her turns ravenous, and he deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue inside to taste her, letting his hands wander and rediscover the silky curves of her back and bottom. Bedelia rises to meet him at first with a wave of passion that equals his own, but then the tide ebbs and she is stiff in his arms.

He breaks the kiss and frowns, concerned. “Is something the matter?”

He can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, some inner conflict clouds their bright blue flame. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” he tells her reproachfully. “We promised each other no veils, no secrets, Bedelia.”

She reaches out hesitantly to brush the hairs on his face. “This.”

“You dislike my beard?” He laughs. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“It is a trivial thing. I will get used to it, I suppose.”

She is pouting so prettily, he aches to kiss her, but does not, knowing now she dislikes the roughness. “We have been so long apart, I have no desire to wait for you to ‘get used to it.’ Fortunately, this is easily remedied,” he says, tugging on her hand and guiding her to the gleaming white marble bath.

He retrieves his shaving kit and lays out the implements before her, about to start lathering up when inspiration strikes. He retrieves the chair from Bedelia’s vanity and sets it before the sink. Hannibal opens up his straight razor and places it in Bedelia’s palm. “Perhaps you’d like to do the honors?”

Bedelia turns the blade over in her palm, edge flashing in the light, quietly considering. Her expression is unfathomable, her thoughts uncharted waters to him, even after so many years. It’s one of the things he loves most about her. Finally, her steely gaze meets his, and she says in a way that makes both his heart and cock leap, “If you insist.”

The game is afoot again between them now, the air in the bathroom taut as a bow string. He luxuriates in the way she lathers him up, painting the shaving cream across his face and neck with deft and exquisite precision. She draws it out, making a process that could be performed in seconds feel like hours, bristles brushing against his Adam’s apple and jawline in the most delicious tease.

Silently, she touches the blade against his neck and she pauses, letting their eyes lock in the reflection of the mirror. He knows and she knows it is no small gesture of trust on his part. She could open his throat in a fountain of blood with that blade, like a scene from some yellow-backed penny dreadful. And she knows and he knows that she is quite capable of the act.

He has placed the means to crush him once and for all in her finely boned hand. But Bedelia would never crush him—or would she? It is that tension that has him hard already, cock standing at attention as she drags the blade over the tender skin covering his jugular.

Bedelia’s eyes flick downward, taking in his rather obvious erection. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” he says, reclining back against her. He’s at the perfect height to use her soft silk covered breasts as a pillow. “Are you?”

Bedelia doesn’t answer, but her sly secret smile gives her away, as it always does. As does the deep loam of her arousal undercutting the harsh scent of his shaving foam.

“I’m nearly finished,” she says, drawing the blade over what was once his mustache. She makes efficient work of it and then she is done, leaving his face bare and smooth. The newly shaven skin is sensitive and tingles in the night air.

He sponges himself off with a hot towel and inspects her handiwork; there’s not a single nick, as flawless as he could have asked for. “I do believe you are the most beautiful barber I have ever known,” he tells her, planting a kiss into her right palm.

She strokes his now smooth cheek and hums quietly to herself, almost like a cat’s purr. “Much better.”

“I’ll remember that you prefer me clean shaven.”

Her hand wanders down to his chest, fingers combing themselves through his chest hair. “Not everywhere.”

It warms him from somewhere deep within and he is content to let her hands dance across his chest hair, stroking it like a pelt. “You like this.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bedelia answers, “Yes.”

“Why?” he asks. He has learned it is difficult to get her to admit even the simplest preferences, to reveal anything about herself. She has spent so long as a mirror to her patients, reflecting others’ desires while concealing her own. He still savors those moments when she feels free enough to show herself, to be seen in even the smallest way.

Her hauteur vanishes, covered by a schoolgirlish blush. “It is very masculine…very you.”

Suddenly he cannot wait any longer; his vaunted patience evaporates like mist and he has tugged her into his lap, eager to join with her. Bedelia does not protest at this turn of events and grabs his shaven face to kiss him eagerly, rewarding his indulgence with increasing ardor.

He slips his hand under the hem of her gown, bubbling over with amusement when his fingertips brush hot bare skin instead of the coarse curls he had grown to love. “So you did amuse yourself while I was away.”

“When in Brazil,” she tells him, her voice a sultry inferno that seems to raise the temperature of the room by ten degrees. Bedelia takes hold of his cock roughly in her palm and sinks down on him. He had nearly forgotten how good it felt to be enveloped by her slick heat and finds himself moaning aloud.

“Yes,” he tells her, “More, more.” He wants her astride him, adores seeing her take her pleasure this way. The robe falls off her shoulders and Bedelia rides on, breasts bouncing proudly in the air, hands gripping his shoulders and tugging his hair. He loves her like this, uninhibited, utterly without her person suit. He likes her to use him this way. Her dominance is a thing of beauty, a wonder to behold. He wishes she would express it in all aspects of her life, as he does, but it is enough to glimpse it here.

She is masterful, magnificent. She has mastered him.

They both climax quickly, the first of what he hopes will be many times that evening. In the tenderness of the afterglow she covers his newly smooth face with kisses; there is love and longing burned into every one, silent sigils known only to the two of them.

“I missed you, too,” he says, responding to the sentiment Bedelia did not allow herself to voice. “Though, I must say, I do enjoy the way absence has made your heart grow fonder of me.”

Bedelia takes his earlobe between her teeth and nips it none too gently. Perhaps she does intend to kill him after all—death by insatiable sexual desire. “Not just my heart.”

“I should go away more often, if this is the welcome I receive.”

“Oh? I was considering coming along next time…I have a sudden hunger to participate.”

A wolfish grin slides across his face at the thought of Bedelia the huntress at his side. Another day, he thinks, as he scoops her up into his arms and carries her into their bedroom. There are other hungers that must be sated and he intends to savor every second of their reunion. 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is one of my favorite Brazilian songs. I don't speak Portuguese, so I'm working off a translation, but the song is about two people who tried to forget each other and realized they couldn't stay away and are giving in to the fact they belong together. That's how I imagine a verse where Bedelia and Hannibal get a happy ending. 
> 
> Happy belated birthday to my partner in crime, Notpersephone/Bedeliainwonderland. She is the other keeper of the bedannibal flame and I probably wouldn't have lasted as long without her to fangirl with me and inspire me. ♥♥♥


End file.
